


An Offer

by asleepyboy



Series: He Probably Doesn't [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Shy Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29447397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asleepyboy/pseuds/asleepyboy
Summary: Jaskier has a daydreaming habit and stares often- Geralt notices. A bad excuse about reading palms ends with a kiss, cut short.(Mild violence: Geralt fights a monster for a sec) (Some swears if it matters) Part 1 of 2 (maybe more ??)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: He Probably Doesn't [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163087
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	An Offer

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a daydreaming habit and this scene has been in my head for Weeks. This is the first piece of writing I've ever shared and I hope it makes you as happy as it makes me :)

\- Jaskier -

We sat on the damp earth in the dark, huddled close to a small fire. He had been silent and still for a number of minutes, wrapped in a saddle blanket, staring out into the dark.

His silence was nothing new; the most I could pull from his lips was often a single word, a hum, or a short huff that might have been a laugh on a good day. But as of late he’d been quieter than usual, more distant. Most of the time he at least _pretended_ to listen to me, but he’d recently picked up a charming habit of blatantly ignoring me. Or maybe his mind truly was elsewhere - I couldn’t tell. After days of trying and failing to coax him into conversation or catch his eye, I was becoming inclined to join him in his gloomy silence.

He sat leaning against the trunk of a tree with his elbows rested upon bent knees, his hair falling in a mussed silver sheet. I traced the outline of his form against the darkness beyond our small camp, my gaze lingering on his hands, mindlessly fiddling with a stray thread of his blanket. From the short distance between us I could faintly see the dozen or so scars that had accumulated on them. He usually wore gloves, or gauntlets, or whatever they were called - it was almost strange to see them bare.

My mind wandered, wondering at the years it must have taken to gather so many scars and such heavy calluses. He’d told me sparingly of his years at Kaer Morhen. He never cared to go into detail, and considering what little I knew of the trials, I couldn’t blame him. But it always sent my imagination running.

 _He_ always sent my imagination running. It was often hard to keep myself from staring and wondering. I was doing it again, but I didn’t particularly care as my thoughts knitted themselves between his calloused fingers, imagining them tracing through my hair, brushing against my cheek, grasping-

"What."

I started at the sudden sound of his voice.

"What?"

"What is it?" He asked with a sideways glance.

"Oh. Nothing. Um. My mind must have been elsewhere." I smiled, quickly shifting my gaze back toward the small flame before us.

"You were looking at my hands." He said flatly.

"Yes! Um. It was just that I was- Um. Thinking about an old friend of mine who read palms - she taught me how and I was, ah, wondering what your hands might have to say about you?"

The hurried lie spilled from my lips, landing awkwardly between us.

His amber eyes scanned my face. I'd never get used to that look. It always felt as if he were looking through me. Someone told me once that witchers could smell fear, and I had often wondered if he could smell whatever it was I felt when he looked at me that way.

Finally, he huffed a small laugh. "Bullshit party tricks."

I felt my shoulders relax slightly at that. And though I knew nothing in the way of divination, an easy grin spread across my lips as I said, "Afraid of what they might tell me?"

Another huff, "No."

"Oh, come on- _The_ Geralt of Rivia has nothing to hide?”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“You're sure there's no _scandalous_ secrets they might tell me about?" I pressed.

"There's nothing to tell, and if there was, my hands couldn't tell you any of it." He countered, though a hint of a smile crept across his lips.

"I'll see about that." I said, offering my hand toward him. He stared at it, then back at me. I stretched it out further, expectant. He stared at me for a moment, then, with a sigh, allowed me to take his hand in both of mine. I hadn't truly noticed before just how big they were. I knew he was certainly much taller and broader than me, but they dwarfed mine.

His skin was warm, surprisingly so, and it was indeed as calloused as I had imagined. I looked closely now at each of the scars that marred his skin. It looked as if a web of thin, white-pink lines had been cast over his knuckles. I turned his hand over and took my time gently tracing the lines of his palm, marking where they intersected and broke, making a point to “hmm” and “ah, I see” now and then. I wondered what I might have been able to divine from them had I ever known anything about reading palms.

A small smile crept across my face as I realized how rare it was to touch his skin. He seemed to have a general aversion to removing any piece of his armor in most circumstances, and in my first few days of traveling with him, I quickly learned he was definitely not a hands-on type of person.

I wondered about the few who had ever been allowed to touch him. Lewd images flashed across my mind and the smile soon vanished from my face. Right. Many had been allowed - paid to do so.

My fingers stilled. I loosened my grip and began to turn to face him once more, preparing some story about a prosperous future or a great danger awaiting him. As my eyes lifted to him I froze. He had shifted and now leaned much closer to me, and was peering down at my face. I could see his breath in the chill night air, mingling now with mine. I couldn't help my eyes darting toward his mouth.

"What is it?" He said.

"What is what?" I sputtered.

"What did you see?"

"I, um. I saw the scar, the big one, on your last two knuckles. I thought it must have hurt. A lot." It wasn't exactly a lie.

He glanced at his hand that was still grasped in mine, then back at me.

"It did," He said.

I could almost feel the warmth of his breath on my face. It seemed he too was now aware of how closely he had shifted toward me, but he didn't move.

I felt my heartbeat beginning to quicken, but I stayed there, frozen, taking in the details of his face. My gaze darted amongst his familiar features, now almost alien from such a close perspective.

I’d never noticed before, but I could see now how the amber of his eyes was spattered with the tiniest flecks of tawny brown. And I could see precisely how the bridge of his nose was shifted slightly to the left. I was sure it had been broken far too many times to heal without looking crooked. The thought of it made me shudder.

I wondered if he still registered the pain. I couldn’t decide if it was worse if he did or didn’t. I wrestled with the thought - I hoped that he didn’t have to feel each and every wound that would’ve felled an ordinary man. But I didn’t know what it would mean to live like that - what it would do to him, to never feel any of it.

I wished I could shield him from it. I wished life would have been kinder to him. He would spend multiple lifetimes protecting people and he had only ever been repaid in scars and a handful of coin.

I was sure he’d swat me away, but instead he watched me intently as I reached up toward his face. He let me run my thumb over his cheekbone, my fingers grazing his stubbled jaw. I didn’t dare ask what had inflicted the scar across his eye - instead I studied it. I traced a fingertip down from his brow to his cheek, his eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Each one of these wounds counted for dozens of lives saved- probably more. I wished more than anything that there was someone to protect _him_.

When he met my eyes again, something in his expression had shifted - it was softer, almost sad. His brow furrowed and his mouth tightened.

I stayed there for a few moments, unmoving and unsure how long he would allow me to do this, trying to make sense of the conflict on his face.

His hand drifted up to my chin, gently tipping my face up toward him. For a moment he just held me there, looking at me. My pulse began to flutter. I started to say something when he closed the distance between us, softly pressing his lips to mine.  
He pulled back, just slightly. His eyes lifted again to mine, his hand still on my chin - as if it were a question, an offer. I just stared in disbelief. I had stopped breathing altogether. But he stayed there, waiting.

Before I allowed myself a second thought, I quickly returned with an answer. I closed the distance between us, hastily pressing my lips to his again. He loosed a heavy breath before he took my face in his hands and kissed me again. He gently swept his tongue against my barely parted lips and my mind went completely and utterly blank.

His mouth was so warm against mine, and the taste of him- Something within me finally snapped. I grasped at the front of his armor, tugging him closer to me. I parted my lips further, desperate for more of him. He smiled against my lips as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. That rare and beautiful sound had never made me feel so lightheaded before.

His hands slowly traced down my spine, and settled on the small of my back, pulling me closer still. I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in that moment, finally, blissfully exploring this unlikely friend I had found.

I hadn’t let myself think about him like this, I thought it wouldn’t have done any good. I knew he wouldn't have thought of me like that. I thought I knew - but here he was, with his tongue in my mouth, his hands in my hair, tugging on my shirt- I certainly wasn’t going to ruin it by stopping to ask him why.

The world began to melt away, until there was nothing but the two of us. Just his hands, his mouth, his breath-

But he stilled, looking out into the dark, listening. I stifled the whine that grew in my throat when he pulled away from me.

I was still breathless as I whispered, "What’s wrong?"

He stood, drawing a sword from his back.

"I don't know. Stay here," He said in a low voice. With a wave of his hand, the fire sputtered into embers and he began to walk into the dark. I couldn't see him when he said, "Stay quiet, I'll come back."

-Geralt-

Leaving him there felt wrong. Every inch of me was screaming to go back, but if whatever it was managed to slip past me he'd be dead in seconds. He couldn't come with me, he was too loud and slow and.. distracting.

I heard something. I thought I did.

Mostly I heard the little sound that escaped him when I took his face in my hands, his quiet quickened breaths, his heart thudding in his chest- Shit. I wanted nothing more than to go back and finish what I started, but I forced my mind to be still. There was something in the woods.

I adjusted my grip on my sword, trying to focus on the sounds of the forest around me. Hardly any moonlight made it through the dense canopy above me, casting my vision into vague shades of gray in the darkness. I willed my awareness to extend beyond me. The world around me grew eerily still and quiet.

I whirled to my left, suddenly aware of near silent footsteps approaching me. Too late. A dark blur of teeth and translucent skin lunged toward me from beneath the undergrowth. It planted its clawed paws on my chest, knocking me to the ground with a heavy thud. It sank jagged, broken teeth into the side of my armor with a hungry snarl.

The dog-like creature clamped down harder and rolled its too-thin neck, wrenching free the leather plate. Its teeth plunged into my ribs a second later. A sharp groan escaped me as it began to tear outward, taking my shirt and flesh with it.

I managed to strike its nose with the pommel of my sword, leaving a broken indentation in its snout - its resulting yelp freeing me from the grip of its teeth. As I stood, I got a better look at the creature; a warg. Larger than a wolf, but unnaturally elongated and angular. Its lithe, hairless form sank low to the ground with an angry snarl, preparing to lunge at me a second time.

I spun as it leapt toward me, grasping at the scruff of its neck with one hand and following soon after with my blade in the other. Its body fell to the ground with a wet thud, its head still in my grasp.

I stood there blinking for a moment, then unceremoniously dropped the head on the ground with the body.

I took stock of myself as the adrenalin faded and the pain set in. Poor fucker managed to crack two of my ribs and shred the surrounding skin before I took off its head. I pressed a hand over the wound to hold in the blood that was slowly pooling against my side.

I treaded carefully over to my missing plate of armor, stooping painfully to pick it up. I stood and listened again - blessed silence met my ears. My relieved sigh was more painful than it was worth.

“Sorry friend,” I muttered, approaching the dead warg, waving an open hand over its body. The flame soon rendered its flesh to ash. I turned to head back to the camp.

I should’ve been able to scent it. It had been years since something snuck up on me like that. I made quick work of the beast but the fact that it had injured me at all was embarrassing. I could feel Vesemir scowling at me from hundreds of miles away. But with the smell of Jaskier on me, and his stupid heartbeat echoing in my head- It didn't matter. I kept walking.

The pain in my side pulsed dully with each step. I tried to steady my breath. I’d be back soon enough.

\---

I could tell when he lied. I knew he didn’t know shit about reading palms, but I wanted to see what he’d come up with. But then something about my hands spooked him. Something other than the scars, though I had caught him looking at them before. The few on my neck and my face had often caught his attention. He looked at them the same way everyone did; something between fear and wonder would spread over his face and then he’d look away thinking I hadn’t noticed. I was young when I realized no one could stare at scars they couldn’t see.

But this time it was different.

He looked at me with such gentle concern. Like he could see.. something. Something other than a bloodthirsty mutant or an expensive sellsword at best. I couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at me like that.

And maybe I wanted to shut him up, or maybe I wanted to see his face when I surprised him like he often had a habit of surprising me. When he looked at me then, his usual arrogant façade was gone and maybe I wondered how his loud, annoying mouth would taste.

I didn’t know what I thought he’d do. I didn't think about it, I just kissed him. And he kissed me back. I could hear his heart beating so fast, and I realized what I was doing but somehow it didn't feel like a mistake. He kissed me back and his hands were shaky but he pulled me closer. He was so eager and it caught me so off guard that I laughed. I had spent so much time convincing myself it was a bad idea that I hadn’t even considered that he might have wanted it too.

Even so, this is where it got me - bleeding, exhausted, and far from our camp. I needed to be more careful. I didn’t want to think about what might’ve happened if the warg had found us.

It may have been the first time I’d acted on it, but tonight certainly wasn’t the first time he’d managed to be so.. disarming. He had a way of making me forget where we were and what we were supposed to be doing. It was becoming increasingly difficult to pull myself out of the comfortable trance he always seemed to pull me into.

I panicked when I heard something because for the first time in a long time, I had stopped paying attention entirely. What shook me now was how easy it was to forget everything else. There was just him. Just his crooked grin and sleepy blue eyes and the smell of lavender and summer rain.

I needed to keep him safe. We were lucky I heard it before it found us.

It was stupid. _I_ was stupid. I shouldn’t have let my guard down. I needed to be careful.

-Jaskier-

I pulled his discarded blanket around my shoulders; his body heat still clung to it. Without the fire, the temperature quickly dropped. For several minutes I just sat there, dazed, feeling his phantom hands in my hair, on my chin, down my spine. I still couldn't tell if I had dreamed it.

I settled myself as close to the embers as I dared, closed my eyes, and listened. I wondered what he heard.

-Geralt-

When I returned to the camp, I found him lying on his side wrapped in the blanket I had forgotten. He was shivering, huddled dangerously close to the last embers of the fire.

Shit. Of course. He must have been freezing.

I tugged him away from the coals before flaring them back to life. A small groan drifted from him as I shifted him, and he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Asleep. He'd been asleep. Alone and defenseless in the dark. And I left him there. Like an idiot.

Roach huffed at me.

“I know,” I grumbled.

I tossed another blanket over him and another log on the fire before cleaning the bite. We were safe, for now at least. I just needed to keep him safe.


End file.
